Omnia
by GYRC
Summary: 1971. A series of bombs rock central London. Muggle-borns are going missing. A whispered panic spreads across the wizarding world. And four boys meet on a scarlet steam engine. A Marauders-era fic. [Chapter 1: Werewolves were rare. Werewolf children were even rarer.]


**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ is the property of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers. I am neither of these entities, and I am not profiting from this work. I am simply a child playing in a sandbox.

**Background:** I'm one of those lucky folks who discovered _Harry Potter _in the late 1990s, and was able to grow up alongside each new book. I could talk for hours about the impact of these books on my life: about how they offered me friendship and hope when I didn't have much of either. Even now, going back for a re-read is a bit like returning home

That said, I've always resented JK for not writing a Marauders prequel series. (And, please: nobody asked for _Fantastic Beasts_.) I suppose that's where fanfiction comes in ... though, the prospect of writing a Marauders-era epic was always so gigantic that I quickly abandoned the idea. I finally had my "screw it! let's give it a whirl!" moment a few days ago - so, here we go.

With that in mind, please note:

1) I'm a full-time graduate student and also hold a part-time job, and I am _not_ writing this story in advance. I cannot promise regular updates or even a complete work. But, I will try my best.

2) This story is canon to the original seven books - _NOT _to supporting/supplementary materials, _Cursed Child_, _Fantastic Beasts_, or JK's many twitter/website/etc. amendments. I might pull from this external material on occasion, but I will not take it as strict doctrine.

I think that's all?

Onwards!

* * *

**1\. The** **Registry**

_London - January, 1970_

Remus hated the Werewolf Registry.

He hated the rows of uncomfortable plastic seats; the dog-eared magazines that were five years out-of-date; the clock that ticked - _tick, tick, tick, tick, tick_ \- too loudly across the room. He hated the receptionist, Mabel, who looked at him with pity and his parents with disdain, as if to say _It didn't have to be this way. You could have ended it._ He hated the way his mother smothered him with hugs and sweets and reduced chores in the days immediately before and after this visit.

He hated seeing the others. They were all instantly recognizable - not that many humans would dare set foot in the Werewolf Registry. Bone-weary, slumped shoulders, weighted down by both their curses and the outside world. The room reeked of despondency and defeat, and always made Remus feel nauseous. The very fact that _so many_ werewolves were stuffed into one space made his hackles rise. He resisted the urge - he always did - though could never quite shake the pent-up tension that wracked his body.

It was a common misconception that they were pack animals -

Most of all, he hated knowing that _he_ was the one attracting the most attention. Werewolves were rare. Outside of the Registry, he'd encountered others of his kind only five times: twice at the hospital, following particularly-violent full moons; once in his grandparent's little village (nasty shock, that); and twice while visiting London. Werewolf children were even rarer. Most children were too small to fend off the attack and were outright slaughtered. Those who survived typically died within the first month, as the infection wrecked their body. The remaining ones often didn't make it past their first or second change - the mental and physical strain was simply too much. Remus was well aware that he was a downright oddity. He'd been so young that he couldn't remember life as a human, though he knew - logically - that he had been one once.

If his age and diminutive stature wasn't enough, then his neatly pressed clothes set him apart. His loving parents, each grasping a hand. He knew his scent was different: definitely not human, though his mother had never noted anything unusual about it. It was also different from the wolves around him, marking him as young, vulnerable, and in need of a protection. Not a threat. Though, he knew that it was starting to change too.

His mother squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the dreary waiting room.

Two more werewolves ("Coulson" and "McTaggert") were called in before Maude the receptionist shouted "Lupin". Hopping off the chair and gathering his coat, Remus allowed himself to be led down the corridor. His parents trailed after him, heads down to avoid the gaze of the werewolves around them, their discomfort palpable. The small examination room at the end of the corridor greeted them with the promise of another long wait and stifled silence, interrupted by another _tick-tick-ticking_ clock.

Remus sometimes didn't know how humans could stand it. The world was so _loud_ \- and so _busy_. As a child, he'd often been reduced to sobbing fits. Even now, the sound of a passing bus was enough to make him clap his hands over his ears. He gagged at hidden scents as they walked through the city. It still surprised his mother, and he always thought that she looked rather sad to see his reaction. Remus himself was equally befuddled by his parent's lack of response: how his mother was always surprised by the postman's approach, or how is father was never bothered by smell of the office (and its dark creatures) on his robes. Remus had never worked out whether humans _couldn't_ sense things - if so, what was the point of having a nose and ears? - or if they simply didn't care. He'd never worked up the courage to ask.

A long forever passed before he heard the scuffle of Healer McNevin's shoes. Remus sat slightly more upright, allowing a look of pleasant distraction to cloud his features. The door swung open a moment later.

"Remus! Hello!" McNevin gushed, smiling broadly despite the circumstances. He reached out to shake hands. "Lyall, Hope - very nice to see you again. Has it already been a year? How are things?"

"Good, good," Mr Lupin nodded. "How's the family, Tom?"

"Roger started at Hogwart's this year. Claudia's been a wreck ever since September," McNevin chuckled. "But it's good. Roger seems to be adapting well. And Remus? How have you been? Haven't hit your growth spurt yet, I see. Though, your dad's not exactly tall," he winked. "Nine years old now?"

"Almost ten," Remus corrected.

"March will be here faster than you know," he noted. "Well, you know the drill. Shirt off, please."

Remus pulled off his sweater, ignoring his father's flinch and his mother's averted eyes. The past full moon - which had fallen a few days before Christmas - had been especially unpleasant, which he had attributed to being in a new house full of leftover human smells. His torso was the usual mash of pink scars. If nothing else, Remus was thankful that his _infection_ had gifted him with superior healing skills: otherwise, he'd been a patchwork quilt of mangled flesh by his sixth birthday. The only scars that wouldn't - or, couldn't - eventually fade were those from his first bite. They were normally concealed by clothing, with only a hint visible at the base of his neck. With his sweater off, they were on full display arching across his left shoulder, back, and arm: smooth, silvery, and viscous under the fluorescent lights.

"Hmm," McNevin mumbled, poking at him. "These ones are from December?"

"This one," Remus corrected, pointing at a slash that ran from his left elbow to wrist. "And this one."

"I see," he said quietly. He inspected the healing wound thoughtfully, at one point taking out a measuring tape and jotting numbers on an already-number-filled piece of paper. He contemplated the figures for a moment. "Well, you might not have hit your growth spurt yet - but it seems like your wolf has," he commented dryly. He always used the term "your wolf", as if speaking of some badly-behaved pet rather than the XXXXX-rated magical creature resting in Remus's subconscious. "Rough estimates, mind you, but it looks like its paw circumference has grown by about a third over the past year. Still very much a pup, mind you. Fascinating ... "

"We've noticed changes, too," Mr Lupin said quietly. Remus flushed, suddenly finding his trainers to be the most fascinating objects in the world. "It's becoming difficult, even with those unbreakable charms you suggested last year. There's been a few ... close calls."

"I'm not surprised," McNevin nodded. "What about trying a windowless room? It'll be more secure."

"No!" Remus's head snapped up quickly. "It's - if I can't - " he sputtered. There weren't words to describe what it was like - the tug; the pressure; the pain.

"It doesn't work well," Mrs Lupin said hurriedly. "We've tried it a few times and, well, it just makes things worse. The change is ... more difficult, you see. It takes so much longer. And he's so cross for the next week."

"I understand," McNevin sighed. "But, it's typical protocol for most adults. Comfort and grumpiness must be weighed against safety. I can consult with the Charms Department to see if there's anything else. But Remus," his look wasn't unkind, but it was blunt. "You're growing up - and your wolf is getting bigger, too. It's not going to be a cute puppy much longer - " Remus snorted; he woke up monthly to the damage that the "cute puppy" inflicted " - and, as a magical creature, charms don't work as well on you. The spells I gave your dad should have been enough to restrain a professional quidditch beater. We don't have many more options. That is, short of monthly trips to the high arctic." McNevin ran a hand through his hair. "You know I have to ask this. Remus, has your wolf had any accidents this past year?"

"No," he whispered.

"Have you hurt anyone as a person?"

"No," came the echo.

"That's what I like to hear," McNevin nodded, picking up his wand from the examination table. He tapped below Remus's collarbone twice, activating a small circular tag. With a third tap and a mumbled spell it flared to silver before slowly fading back nothing. "Now that that's taken care of - "

Remus spent the next half hour being poked and prodded; being measured against normative growth charts; answering questions about his diet and sleep and exercise habits; and being drilled on mathematics and general knowledge. It was the usual routine, and Remus bore it with a bored resignation. The prize for his cooperation was a piece of chocolate cake and a visit to his grandparent's house.

"Everything seems fine," McNevin at last proclaimed. "Like I said, he's a bit on the short side, but I'm sure that'll remedy itself shortly - especially if he's eating as much as you claim, Hope," he laughed to himself and shook his head. "I'd like to see him spending more time with other children, though."

Remus's heart fluttered and fell alongside his mother's "We move so often ... " and his father's "We can't chance ... " McNevin raised his hand to their protests.

"You know I have an interest in this area," McNevin said quickly. "And Remus, you're growing up to be such a fine young man. You're surprising a lot of people around here. The team will be horrified to hear my update on you - the bigots," he grinned coldly. "Look. The Division Head and I met for lunch last month. And, he's just as pleased as I am. And - Well, we've never had a case like this before. It's completely unprecedented, you see. So we thought: What if this is just the start? Remus is so - "

_Tame_, Remus whispered to himself. He didn't know if he liked that word.

"Well, you've done just a wonderful job," McNevin faltered. "But, what if there's more? What about, let's say, full integration? What might positive peer experiences do? A good education?"

Remus heard his father's voice crack. "Tom?"

"I've sent an inquiry to Hogwarts," elaborated McNevin with a sheepish grin. "I've heard back from Dumbledore, and he's expressed curiosity. It's not a yes - but it's not a firm no. I have a meeting with him next week, unless you don't - "

"NO!" Mr Lupin shouted, then flushed. "No - no. Thank-you. That is - Hogwarts? We would - " he was fidgeting on his seat like a toddler. "Yes, of course. Please. Thank-you. Can we - I mean?" he took a breath. "Hogwarts? Are you serious?"

"I can't make promises," McNevin cautioned. "But Remus? Would you like to attend Hogwarts?"

"I could really go?" he asked skeptically. He'd never been told much about the school, but had overhead the whispered conversations between his father and mother when they thought he was asleep. The school sounded ... It was ... The very thought made his gut ache with longing. "I think that'd be good."

"Good," McNevin clapped him on the knee, as if sealing a deal. "I'll try my very best. If we get a 'yes', we'll have to meet again - and soon - to start figuring out a strategy."

"What can we do?" Mrs Lupin said.

"Socialization," McNevin said again. "Transition to full-time boarding school is difficult for most children - let alone children not accustomed to being around peers. I'd like to see Remus registered in muggle elementary school as soon as possible."


End file.
